


Scraping the Surface

by Lisafer



Category: Protector of the Small - Tamora Pierce
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-21
Updated: 2011-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-15 20:06:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisafer/pseuds/Lisafer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the calm after the storm, Vivenne and Wyldon face what could have been.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scraping the Surface

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Goldenlake's "Love is in the Air" fluff-week, in tribute to my own parents.

"You know you could simply grow a beard, dear." Vivenne stepped away from the wash basin, towel in one hand, her  
husband's unadorned straight-edge razor in the other.

"I hate beards."

"And I hate the idea of doing this. Isn't there a barber in the palace who can help instead?" she asked, placing the items on the table next to him and retrieving the rest.

"He was wounded in the battle, too," Wyldon reminded her, wincing as he closed his fist experimentally. "I trust you."

"I know you trust me," Vivenne said, perhaps a little too snappishly. "I don't know if I trust my abilities. You know my hands shake when I’m nervous."

"You'll be fine." He let out a hiss of pain as he unclenched his fingers.

"If you don't stop that, I'll be sure to cut you."

"Duke Baird said I would need to exercise it."

"I'm sure he didn't mean you should do it the day after he practically reattached your arm."

Wyldon looked up at her, his expression bland. "It didn't need to be reattached."

"I think it was closer to being severed than it was to being perfectly fine." Vivenne shuddered involuntarily. In the seventeen years she'd been married to Wyldon - in the twenty they had known each other - this was his closest encounter with the Black God's realm. She knew the risks he took in the name of duty, and until this battle, she would have said that it was worth it. "I prefer you whole, my dear."

He said nothing, instead watching her intently as she prepared the necessary implements. Her hands did not shake as she  
whipped the shaving cream in the small bowl he'd been using since he was old enough to shave. It was a gift from his knight-master, he recalled fondly, and one of those items he took for granted as part of his regular existence.

"Why don't you like beards?" she asked. How was it that there were still questions after having four children and three seasons of failed crops and a million conversations? "You had a moustache, once."

"And you winced every time I kissed you."

"Perhaps I was wincing because we weren't yet betrothed, and you shouldn't have been kissing me," she replied archly. She began to lather the shaving cream onto his face, wondering what he would look like with a full beard.

"If you recall, my love," he began with a smile nearly masked in white foam, "you pursued me."

"I never!"

"I think your memory is selective because you've changed the stories to suit what you tell the girls." It was better, they had once agreed, to not tell their children the entire truth about their courtship. There were some things, after all, that a boy-crazed fourteen-year-old child should not know; Eiralys was already too fast and clever for Wyldon's peace of mind.

"I think your memory is selective because you've become accustomed to thinking so highly of yourself since you became a hero of war."

Wyldon frowned, turning his head away slightly, and clenched his fist again. "I'm hardly that."

Taking his chin in her hand, she pulled his face back toward her. "You're more than that, Wyl. Far more. To me, at least."

"Thank you," he said quietly. He wanted to reach out to take her hand in his, but she had tilted his face up slightly and made the first stroke with the razor.

"This isn't as difficult as I thought it would be," she murmured, carefully scraping the cream and stubble from his face. "Perhaps I've given barbers far too much credit."

Wyldon waited until the blade was pulled away from his face before responding. "I think you're certainly far better than I would be with my left hand."

She dropped a light kiss on his nose. "I'm glad I can help you, as much as I didn't want to do this."

"That's been the theme of our life together, hasn't it?" An uncharacteristic touch of melancholy entered his voice. "You didn't want to marry a knight. You didn't want to live in the capital."

"But I wanted to be in love with you," she replied. "And loving you - and having you love me in return - is enough to make everything else a minor complaint."

"I'll be more careful, Vivenne," he promised, his voice thick with emotion.

"No you won't," she said, sliding the razor's blade along the left side of his face. "You will continue to throw your heart and soul into every battle, be it in war or in training. You'll give it everything you have, because it's what you believe in. And I will love you all the more for it."

"And if I leave you widowed, and our children fatherless?" he asked through barely-moving lips.

It was her turn to say nothing. A hundred responses came to mind as she continued to shave him, but she could not form any of the reassuring words. He rested his left hand on her hip and gazed up at her, his eyes troubled.

"They'll never be fatherless," she said finally. "Death would make you an even greater force in their lives."

"And in yours?"

She pulled away sharply, crossing to the washbasin to rinse off the blade. "You're fishing for compliments, love. Do I need to remind you that you're everything to me, and always will be? I thought the last twenty years would have proven that to you. The fact that I don't leave you when you have these strange fits of doubt or idleness should reassure you."

"And if I can no longer be a knight?"

Vivenne walked back to him and wiped the remnants of shaving cream from his face. "Duke Baird did not think that would be the case."

"If it is?"

"If you cannot recover, and I'm forced to shave your solemn face every day until we both die, I will give you the option of growing a beard."

"Grow a beard or...?"

"I'll throw you out of the house," she said with a mild laugh. It was a playful threat he had heard since their first week of marriage, and it offered them both a degree of comfort. Life would become normal again, it reminded them. Even the fear of death or dismemberment was nothing, so long as there was a promise of a return to normal.

"I love you," he said softly, taking her hand and standing carefully. It was not a gesture of romance, his taking her hand, but a necessity for his balance. But when he caressed her cheek, and gazed down at her, it was not practical or necessary.

"I'm so glad," she whispered, dropping her head against his chest. She had not wept throughout this ordeal - not with four daughters relying on her for courage and strength. She would not weep now, either - it would do neither of them any good. But it was all right, for just one moment, to think about what could have been. To remind herself that they had so much to be thankful for. "I'm glad you're alive, that you're safe.” Lifting her head again, she kissed him sweetly.

"This," he said, voice hoarse, "this is what I held onto when I fought the centaur. It wasn't just protecting those children. It was protecting myself, for you. For our family."

"I always assumed that your duty came above all things - that thoughts of us left your mind in the heat of battle."

"You're not always on my mind," he admitted. "I would lose more fights, were that the case. But you're always in my heart."

Vivenne carefully wrapped her arms around his torso, nuzzling against his chest again. He was not always the most  
demonstrative of men - especially in his choice of words. So she cherished each and every one, and took comfort in the fact that they would have a very long time together yet. “I love you,” she murmured.

He put his good arm around her, squeezing tightly and letting go. “Come now, it’s almost time for breakfast.”

And the moment was over, just like that. The children would be called to the table, and family life would continue, and she would take comfort in knowing that still waters ran deep, and none more so than the affection of her husband, no matter how reluctant he was to show the rest of the world what was in his heart.


End file.
